s
he pursued and tormented by the thought of the space between him
and Nicky?

XXII

Michael had gone to Stephen's house.

He was no longer at his ease there. It seemed to him that Lawrence's
eyes followed him too; not with hatred, but with a curious
meditative wonder.

To-night Stephen said to him, "Did you know that Reveillaud's killed?"

"Killed? Killed? I didn't even know he was fighting."

Lawrence laughed. "What did you suppose he was doing?"

"No--but how?"

"Out with the patrol and shot down. There you are--"

He shoved the _Times_ to him, pointing to the extract from _Le Matin_:
"It is with regret that we record the death of M. Jules Reveillaud, the
brilliant young poet and critic--"

Michael stared at the first three lines; something in his mind prevented
him from going on to the rest, as if he did not care to read about
Reveillaud and know how he died.

"It is with regret that we record the death. It is with regret that we
record--with regret--"

Then he read on, slowly and carefully, to the end. It was a long
paragraph.

"To think," he said at last, "that this revolting thing should have
happened to him."

"His death?"

"No--_this_. The _Matin_ never mentioned Reveillaud before. None of the
big papers, none of the big reviews noticed his existence except to
sneer at him. He goes out and gets killed like any little bourgeois, and
the swine plaster him all over with their filthy praise. He'd rather
they'd spat on him."

He meditated fiercely. "Well--he couldn't help it. He was conscripted."

"You think he wouldn't have gone of his own accord?"

"I'm certain he wouldn't."

"And I'm certain he would."

"I wish to God we'd got conscription here. I'd rather the Government
commandeered my body than stand this everlasting interference with
my soul."

"Then," said Lawrence, "you'll not be surprised at my enlisting."

"You're not--"

"I am. I'd have been in the first week if I'd known what to do about
Vera."

"But--it's--it's not sane."

"Perhaps not. But it's Irish."

"Irish? I can understand ordinary Irishmen rushing into a European row
for the row's sake, just because they haven't got a civil war to mess
about in. But you--of all Irishmen--why on earth should _you_ be in it?"

"Because I want to be in it."

"I thought," said Michael, "you were to have been a thorn in England's
side?"

"So I was. So I am. But not at this minute. My grandmother was a hard
Ulster woman an